


The Grouch and the Hummingbird

by strangeallure



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Getting Together, Long Live Feedback Comment Project, M/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-23
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2020-09-24 08:44:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20355670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: A wonderful café on Alpha Centauri. Paul likes to drink his coffee in peace. Hugh likes to hum. Guess what happens.Just another retelling of their getting-together-story from 1x07 "Magic to Make the Sanest Man Go Mad."





	The Grouch and the Hummingbird

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aphelyon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aphelyon/gifts).

> Laf is an all-around lovely person, who selflessly supplied me with updates on Shazad Latif's Instagram stories while I was on vacation without internet. I wanted to return the favor in some form. That form turned out to be Culmets getting-together fluff.

All Paul’s trying to do is drink his coffee and look outside through the big picture windows, observing the changing skies of Alpha Centauri, but there’s an atrocious humming that keeps distracting him.

He’d think the person was tone-deaf, but the melody is too intricate for that, so it’s probably someone trying to show off their highbrow tastes in music.

Paul’s not impressed.

When the hummer hits an especially elaborate series of high notes, he’s had enough. Turning halfway around, Paul barks in their general direction: “Take your humming elsewhere, would you?”

Paul expects a quick apology or a rude response. A rude response being the much more likely option, if his experience is anything to go by. What he doesn’t expect is the friendly, possibly amused tone of voice that answers him: “Not a fan of Kasseelian opera?”

“Not a fan of opera. Period.” Without really meaning to, Paul makes eye contact with the offender, who’s lounging casually in a chair three seats down. He’s well-dressed and has a pretty face, but Paul won’t let himself get distracted by that. “I am, however, a fan of this café.” He gestures meaningfully. “And I’m trying to enjoy my coffee and the view.”

“I happen to like this café, too.” His pleasant grin says he’s definitely amused. If they weren’t in the middle of a more-or-less antagonistic exchange, Paul would think the hummer is giving him a quick once-over before he adds, “As well as the view.”

“Then I suggest you stifle it,” Paul replies. Despite his words, the annoyance is gone from his tone, the knowing friendliness of the other guy unexpectedly disarming – not to mention a little intriguing. “Or sit somewhere else.”

“How about I do both?” the guy says with a smile that’s sunny as anything and comes to sit right next to Paul.

“Hi,” he says with a quick wave. “I’m Hugh.”

Paul can’t quite believe this is happening.

“I’m Paul,” he says with a small smile, almost in spite of himself.

Somewhat miraculously, an animated hours-long conversation develops from there, flowing from one topic to the next, touching on everything and nothing.

Hugh is smart and thoughtful and speaks his mind, even if he does it with much more tact and affability than Paul ever could, or wanted to. When Paul states his opinions as immutable facts, a habit that has turned a lot of conversations into arguments over the years, Hugh has a way to occasionally counter his views that’s somehow not combative, but more … collaborative, like it’s not about winning the argument, but about getting at a larger truth together.

It reminds Paul of Straal a little bit. Their dynamic is different, of course, and their long friendship was never anything but platonic, while the way Hugh smiles at him and touches his arm and sometimes makes innocent things sound suggestive doesn’t feel platonic at all. Neither does the way Paul finds himself responding in kind.

And yet, the way even the spirited parts of their discussion never veer off into hurtful territory seems a lot like it works between Paul and Straal: deep down, they know prodding at each other’s claims will ultimately bring out the best ideas and thoughts in both of them. That’s what makes them such a great team at work.

The thought of work reminds Paul of something else. “I can’t believe I haven’t told you about my mushrooms yet.”

Belatedly, he realizes how strange that must sound.

Hugh lets out a surprised laugh. “Your mushrooms?”

Usually, his research is front and center in Paul’s mind, and it rarely takes him more than ten minutes to start _soliloquizing_ (his sister’s word, not his) about it. Paul can’t even remember the last time he talked to someone for hours without either of them mentioning their jobs.

It feels special, like a good sign.

“I’m an astromycologist,” he explains, “I specialize in fungi and spores.”

“The_ astro_ part makes me think we’re not talking about dinner.”

Paul rolls his eyes but can’t suppress a laugh. Another thing he’s been doing a lot over the past hours that usually doesn’t come as easily.

“Afraid not,” he says, and adds, “but we could be talking about it_ over_ dinner.” Paul hasn’t clicked like this with someone in a while, and he’d like to explore where it could go.

“I thought you’d never ask.” Hugh winks at him, and it makes something flutter inside Paul’s chest.

As they stroll along the promenade in search of a restaurant, Hugh keeps touching him casually – softly grabbing at Paul’s arm to point out sights to him, the back of Hugh’s hand skimming against Paul’s as they walk – and eventually, Paul slides his hand into Hugh’s, which earns him a smile and a light jostle against his shoulder.

Soon they find a place with Earth cuisine and an open table for two.

“Is it okay for me to order the mushroom risotto?” Hugh asks with a mischievous look on his face while they’re checking out the menu. “Or would that hurt your feelings as a mycologist?”

“Only if you won’t let me have a bite.” Paul shoots him a teasing smile. He’s not always great at gauging the right level of flirtatiousness, but with Hugh, it seems easier to strike a balance.

The food is good, and Paul finally gets to explain about his work while they’re enjoying their meal, weaving in that he’s on Alpha Centauri for a scientific conference, and that while his main lab is on Earth, sample collection and experimentation take him across the whole quadrant.

“So I take it you’re in Starfleet?” Hugh asks between bites.

“Sol no,” Paul replies, even though it’s a reasonable assumption. “I’m not really one for military ranks and chain of command.” He takes another bite from his delicious vindaloo and adds, “Although our lab is affiliated with them. When it comes to off-world science, they have all the coolest toys.”

Hugh laughs. “At least you appreciate our toys.”

Paul manages to put his hand in front of his mouth before he coughs out a piece of chicken. “You’re in Starfleet?”

The Starfleet personnel Paul has worked with over the years have been fine, mostly, but outside of a few scientists, they didn’t really seem worth more of his time.

“I am.” There’s a quiet conviction in Hugh’s voice that tells Paul he’s proud of it, too. “Medical corps.”

“Oh, you’re a doctor.” Paul feels weirdly relieved. Helping people, making them better, he can see how that would be something Hugh wants to do, something he’d be good at. “Now that makes sense,” Paul blurts out, although it must seem presumptuous that he has an opinion on that after such a short time.

Hugh cocks his head. “What’s that supposed to mean?” His eyes are inquisitive, but his voice remains kind.

“Your demeanor.” Paul presses his lips together, trying to figure out what it is that he means and how to phrase it the right way.

“You’re friendly,” he says and adds, “charming even,” with a smile that’s hopefully a little charming, too. “But you have this confidence, this certainty. I can imagine that you make your patients feel at ease, like they’re in good hands. Good bedside manner, if you will.”

Hugh bites his lower lip, and Paul’s not sure if he’s withholding a smile of his own. “That’s a surprisingly sweet and thoughtful compliment.” He raises his eyebrows. “Especially for a guy who told me to get lost only a few hours ago.”

Paul puts his hand across his heart and gives a small, apologetic bow. “A great error in judgement on my part.”

There’s a playful shine in Hugh’s eyes as he replies, “As long as you admit it.”

Hugh dabs at his mouth with his napkin before placing it on his mostly-empty plate. “Speaking of bedside manner, my apartment is only a few blocks from here.” Hugh pins him with a dark look that makes a zing of electricity shoot down Paul’s spine. “How about I’ll make you the best espresso you’ve ever had, and we’ll take it from there?”

“Very smooth, dear doctor.” Paul’s voice comes out dry, and he’s about to make a joke, tell Hugh to hold his horses, distract himself from the jolt of eagerness Hugh’s words elicit in him. But before he can open his mouth again, Paul realizes it’s simply a reflex, standard operating procedure for the part of him that wants to always be in charge, that has trouble letting others lead.

What he really wants is to give in to this eagerness, this excited buzz just beneath his skin. Paul doesn’t want to waste any more time in a public place when they could be spending it in the privacy of Hugh’s apartment. Doesn’t want to risk missing his chance to kiss Hugh, hold him tight, push him onto a comfortable bed and see how good they can make each other feel.

So Paul throws his napkin onto the table and quickly gets up.

“Lead the way,” he says, holding out his hand to Hugh.

An hour or two later, long after the sweat on their skin has dried, they’re lying on Hugh’s bed, legs entangled beneath crumpled sheets, Hugh’s head on Paul’s chest, his hand drawing lazy circles onto Paul’s stomach.

“You still owe me that perfect espresso,” Paul says into the crinkles of Hugh’s hair.

Hugh looks up at him, a sly expression curving his lips. “Does that mean,” he slides up enough to reach Paul’s mouth, giving him a soft peck, “you’re gearing up for round two?”

Paul holds Hugh’s gaze, enjoying the challenge in it, the anticipation as he lets his palm travel up Hugh’s arm, feeling the warmth of his skin, the bulge of his biceps and, finally, the steady beat of Hugh’s pulse beneath his fingers. Paul pulls Hugh in for a real kiss, slow and wet.

He draws back just enough to whisper, “You bet I am,” then dives back in for a deeper kiss, delighted by the enthusiasm that greets him, the way Hugh’s mouth and hands and whole body communicate his desire, make Paul feel wanted and welcomed and so good.

The espresso is completely forgotten as they kiss and touch and move together until all Paul can hear over his own heartbeat thundering in his ears is the sound of their shared breaths and bitten-back moans. Until all he can feel is the heat building between them, the friction of Hugh grinding against him, the sweat springing up all over his skin. Until he’s straining and panting and losing himself in waves of pleasure, less urgent than the first time, but no less satisfying. Until they fall asleep together, loose-limbed and sated and wrapped around each other.

When Paul wakes up, he realizes he’s running late for his conference. That’s a problem, especially since he’s the keynote speaker.

Hugh calls a transport while Paul takes a quick shower, and Paul’s just put on his shoes when the comm rings to signal its arrival.

“I had a really good time,” Hugh says, standing by the door, and it’s the first time Paul hears a note of uncertainty in his voice.

“Me, too.” Paul wishes he’d set an alarm, wishes they had more time. There are things he still wants to say but can’t seem to put into words.

Hugh smiles at him, a warm look in his eyes, and opens the door.

“Goodbye, Paul,” he says and gives him a brief hug. In spite of the briefness, there’s surprising strength behind it, like maybe Hugh doesn’t want to let go either.

Paul has no time to spare, but this feels important. He has to at least try and say something more than just goodbye.

“I’m here all week because of the conference.” The words come out rushed and his smile feels a little crooked. “After all those endless talks, I sure could use some espresso.” His cadence makes the last part into a question.

He’s rewarded with a bright grin from Hugh.

“Right," he draws out the word. "I promised you one, didn't I?” The flirtatious confidence is back in his voice. “My last name’s Culber, by the way. Comm me once you know when you can be back here.”

It’s ridiculous how much Paul wants to kiss him, but he really has to leave.

So he quickly squeezes Hugh’s hand and walks through the door.

“See you later,” he says.

“Looking forward to it.”

**Author's Note:**

> Like all my stories, this is part of the [LLF Comment Project](https://longlivefeedback.tumblr.com/llfcommentproject), whose goal is to improve communication between readers and authors. This author invites:
> 
> **Feedback**: short comments, long comments, questions, constructive criticism, "<3" as extra kudos, reader-reader interaction
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